Put Your Ray Gun To My Head
by LaylaBinx
Summary: "I guess I'm still human enough to be taken down by something as mundane as a blow to the head after all." Peter takes a rather nasty blow to the head during a fight and the others are left to deal with a very concussed and loopy Starlord afterward. Lots of Peter!whump and concerned!Guardians inside!


**Hello all and Happy New Year! Okay, so I saw this prompt over on the LJ page and fell in love with it because concussion prompts are my _jam_! That and pretty much anything that allows me to throw together a healthy mix of Peter!whump and worried!Guardians. I apologize in advance if Peter comes off as a bit OOC; head injuries are fun but tricky to write so he tends to fluctuate between dazed, irritated, angsty, and everything in between a lot during this story. Hopefully it's not too terrible though!**

**Original prompt: During a fight Peter gets a hard hit to the head. The others expect him to shake it off and keep going, like he usually does when he gets hit. But instead he is dizzy, drowsy, and vomiting in the middle of a serious battlefield on a hostile planet. Cue a very concerned team trying to take care of a badly concussed Peter, who is trying to convince them that no, he's not dying, this is just a normal Terran reaction to being hit on the head.**

* * *

><p>"He looks dead."<p>

"He's not dead."

"Yeah, well, he _looks_ dead."

"Well_ looking_ dead and actually _being_ dead are two completely different things."

"Our enemies are approaching."

"Thanks for the update, as if we didn't have enough problems to deal with. Surrounded by Kree and dealing with a possibly dead humie; could this day get any better?"

"He's still breathing, he's not dead."

"I am Groot."

"Oh yeah? And when did you become an expert in Terran biology?!"

"I will pay all of you any amount of money if you'll just stop talking," someone mumbles and Peter is pretty sure it's coming from him but it's so slurred and smeared that it's hard to tell.

"Peter," a voice says and suddenly it's very close and Peter resists the urge to jerk away. "Can you hear me?"

"Loud," Peter mumbles back; it's really hard to concentrate and his words feel like jelly. Everything smells like scorched metal and ozone, exposed wires and copper. His eyes are open but there's a thick hazy above him causing everything to be blurry and doubled. There's an excruciating pressure in his head, tightening and throbbing with each heartbeat, and talking feels a lot like torture right now.

Something sticky and wet is clinging to his skin and making thick, tacky mats in his hair but he's not sure what it is. In fact, he doesn't really know a lot of things right now. All he _does_ know is that he's laying flat on his back, his head is absolutely killing him, and everything is awful.

"Sorry," the voice apologizes and there's a quiet swishing sound as the faceplate of his mask slips away. All at once, the world is bright and blinding and Peter cringes sharply.

"World's gone supernova," he grinds out through clenched teeth, the throbbing in his head increasing to a tidal wave of agony. He's panting and breathless and he can't seem to squeeze his eyes closed any tighter; it's still too bright.

"Sorry," the voice apologizes again and something warm and soft rests across his eyes gently. It takes a few seconds before Peter can open his eyes to blink up at whatever is laying across them and he's just cognizant enough to realize that whatever it is is green. A hand possibly but he's not certain enough to place any bets on it.

"Better?" the voice asks and Peter wants to nod but he thinks he really might die if he does it. He settles with a dull groan instead.

"What's wrong with 'im?" another voice mutters from somewhere close to his knee and there's the smallest hint of something like concern bleeding into the normally gruff tone. Peter finds it odd but he's not really sure why. He's also not too sure why he's on the ground and why all of his senses feel like they're in overdrive so life is just one big mystery. He's always hated mysteries…

"I'm not sure," the voice above him says and Peter is now conscious enough to realize it's a woman speaking. A woman with green hands. His brain almost latches onto a name but then decides to short circuit again and leave him with a blank in its place. Stupid faulty brain. "I've never seen him like this before…"

"He gonna make it?"

"Probably," the woman says quietly though she doesn't sound too confident in the prognosis. "That shot should have killed him," the woman says quietly, almost to herself.

"Should've but didn't," the voice at his knee retorts and obviously the previous statement wasn't quite quiet enough. "Quill's just too damn stubborn to die. Good thing he's got a thick skull, huh?"

"The blast did not strike his head, it ricocheted off of his mask," another deep, rumbling voice chimes in from somewhere above. "The density of his skull is not what spared him."

"Once again, thanks for the update. I forgot you take everything literally."

"I am Groot."

"I was merely explaining-"

"Talking," Peter mumbles again with a low groan. "Too much talking. _Waayy_ too much talking. Stupid amounts of talking…" Even his talking is too much talking; his voice is too loud in his own ears and the vibration of the words makes his head hurt even more. "Quiet time now."

"Well at least now we know the shot didn't affect his winning personality," the voice by his knee mutters but it does make an effort to speak a bit more softly in consideration. Once again, Peter's brain nearly latches onto a name but it drifts away in a sea of fog, leaving him with only a few snippets to work with. Something furry. With claws. And teeth. And a lot of guns. He thinks the word '_missile_' but he knows that's not it. His brain sucks.

He raises his hand to lift away the one that's covering his eyes but his movements are clumsy and uncoordinated and he's pretty sure he accidentally smacks someone in the face. The owner of said face is kind enough not to take it personally and carefully removes her hand from where it's resting over his eyes.

Peter squints up at the sky for several seconds, blinks, and squints again. His vision has improved marginally but everything is still blurry and soft around the edges. Dark hair and green skin appear above him, concerned eyes locked onto his face. He knows her, he knows her name...it starts with a G, right? Or maybe an H?

"Peter?" she asks and her voice echos for only a second when she speaks. Peter's pretty sure he's smiling drunkenly right about now. He always liked it when she said his name.

"G'mra," he slurs back, feeling absurdly proud of himself when he remembers her name. Well, at least most of it. Good job, brain.

She rewards him with a warm smile and slips her hand beneath his head, lifting it just slightly off the ground. "I'm going to help you sit up, okay?"

He almost nods and then thinks better of it, settling with a flailing sort of thumbs-up instead. She lifts him up slowly and carefully and if Peter was even remotely in control of his cognitive faculties, he probably would have been embarrassed the he needed help sitting up at all. But he's not, everything (including his own head) feels a bit marshmallowy right now, so he accepts her help without complaint.

Sitting up proves to be something of a challenge though, especially when the world feels like marshmallows, because Peter's body immediately decides to rebel and send him tipping to one side. Gamora's arm is still supporting his back but someone/something else moves in to assist in the process and Peter finds himself half-slumped against something that feels a lot like a tree root. Roots. Groot.

"I am Groot," the tree creature agrees with a smile and a nod and Peter realizes a bit belatedly that he probably just said all of that out loud. Oops.

With Peter now somewhat upright and propped against something solid, Gamora moves in front of him and reaches out to touch his forehead and oh, God, that _hurts_. He hisses in spite of himself as her fingers brush over something tender and painful and raw up near his hairline. It's a gash or a lump (a glump?), he can't be sure, but her fingers come away red and she doesn't look happy.

"We need to get him back to the ship," she says over her shoulder and Peter's vision doubles for only a second as the furry thing with a lot of guns moves toward her. _Rocket_, his brain informs him triumphantly and if Peter wasn't trying so hard not to pass out right now, he would have been more excited about the revelation.

"You got a plan on how to do that?" the thief asks as he steps past her, a large, menacing gun resting against his shoulder. "In case you forgot, we're kinda pinned down by Kree enforcers and the ship is clear on the other side of the compound."

Gamora frowns again and shakes her head slightly. "I'll think of something. We're going to have to move soon, our defense won't last for long."

For the first time, Peter realizes that they're all huddled down behind the remains of a thick, heavily enforced wall. The top of the wall is crumbled and cracked but the rest of it is standing strong against the onslaught of the Kree attack on the other side. It's providing them with shelter for the time being but if the concussive blasts coming from the other side are any indication, it won't stay that way for much longer.

Peter frowns and squints up at the top of the wall again. He doesn't know how they got here or what happened between now and...whenever it was. He tries to remember the details but everything is still fuzzy. He remembers the beginning of the attack, getting ambushed by the Kree less than ten minutes after they'd touched down. He remembers running, returning fire, a loud blast and enough force to send him sprawling and then...nothing. His short-term memory really leaves a lot to be desired.

There's another blast from the other side of the wall and a long, thick crack snakes its way through the foundation. Dust and bits of rubble rain down as the crack climbs higher, fracturing the wall and causing its formerly sturdy structure to become significantly weaker.

"We gotta go," Peter tells them and he tries to stand up, he really does, but his version of standing remarkably resembles falling over and he doesn't get very far. Gamora reaches out to prevent him from smacking his face into the cracked floor beneath them but something thick and branchy catches him around the waist and helps keep him upright.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there Starlord," Rocket grumbles, knocking Peter in the knee with the butt of his gun. "You ain't exactly fit to be runnin' a marathon here, let alone makin' any sudden movements." His black eyes land on the blood that's still streaking down the side of Peter's face and clumping in his hair. His ears flatten a little and he bares his teeth in an expression that's equal parts disgust and concern. "Not that it was ever really your strong suit to begin with but maybe you should let us do the thinkin' for a while, huh?"

"Rude…" Peter mumbles in response but he's cognizant enough to know that Rocket has a point. Whatever he'd been hit/struck/shot with, it was leaving him with a lasting feeling of pain and vertigo. Thinking was out, moving was questionable, and Peter wasn't left with many other options that didn't include 'sit extremely still and do your best not to throw up.'

Gamora releases her hold on Peter's shoulders carefully, satisfied that Groot has the situation under control enough to keep him upright for a moment. Ignoring the continued blasts from the other side, she walks over to the wall and presses her hand against the cracked foundation. It vibrates and shakes from the abuse on the other side but stands but stands strong at least for the moment.

"It's not going to hold much longer," she says, glancing over her shoulder to Rocket. "We need a plan."

"More than 12%," Peter mumbles hazily and Groot pats him on the shoulder in a way that says, 'it's okay, you tried.'

Gamora allows a wan smile and nods slightly. "Yes, more than 12% of a plan."

Rocket comes to stand next to her, tapping at the wall with the barrel of his gun experimentally. "The quickest way back to the ship is to go straight but that means we'd be goin' right through the middle of all the Kree jerks on the other side."

Gamora continues to stare at the wall and then her eyes widen just slightly. "No, not through them. We'll go over."

"Say what?"

"We'll go over them," the assassin clarifies, running her hand over the wall again. "If we can knock this wall down on top of them, we can go over the rubble to get back to the ship."

"Okay, that could work except we have two problems."

"Like what?"

"Well first, it's gonna take a lotta force to knock this wall down on top of them," Rocket begins, tapping his gun against the wall again. "We're talkin' almost full demolishment on this side to get it to fall the way we want it to. Second, Quill ain't exactly firin' on all cylinders here so we're down one set of guns. In order for this plan to work, we're gonna have to hit hard and move fast and I don't know that Quill can keep up; I doubt he can walk, let alone run."

"So what do you suggest we do?" Gamora retorts sharply, turning to face him. "Leave him here?"

"I didn't say that," Rocket growls back dangerously, clawed fingers tightening on the handle of his gun. "I'm sayin' if he ain't able to run, someone's gotta carry 'im."

"I will carry him," the deep, rumbling voice from before offers and Peter's addled brain latches onto the name 'Drax' just as the warrior stands up. "I will ensure he gets back to the ship safely if he is not able to make the journey on his own."

Gamora shakes her head at his offer. "No, Drax, we're going to need your help to knock down the wall on top of the Kree. I'll carry him."

"I am Groot."

"No one's carryin' anyone," Peter mumbles irritably, pushing himself off of Groot and standing unsteadily. "I'm fine, I can run all on my own." It takes a lot of effort to stand up straight and he doesn't quite manage to hide the slur in his words but dammit, he's not about to damsel-in-distressed out of this situation. Sure, he's still a little loopy and dizzy from whatever it was that took him down in the first place but that doesn't mean he's useless. He can still fight. Probably.

"Peter-" Gamora starts, trying to reason with him, but the other Guardian waves a hand (a little awkward and clumsy) and cuts her off.

"I'm fine," he tells her again even though it takes a second to focus on her face. "I'm not dying guys, 'm just a little concussed."

"Concussed?" Rocket mutters back, his ears twitching slightly. "That a humie thing?"

"Kinda," Peter replies thickly, swallowing back the nausea that threatens to overtake him. "Head injury thing. Inconvenient but not deadly. I think." At least he's pretty sure it isn't. He's gotten a concussion once before and he lived to see another day. This feels a lot like that only the last time he didn't feel like his skull was trying to split open and kill him. He doesn't think it did at least. He doesn't really remember...

Gamora is still staring at him and Peter shrugs it off again. "S'not a big deal; I can make it, don't worry."

She still doesn't look convinced, probably because he's wobbling ever so slightly, but she doesn't push it. Peter is probably one of the most stubborn creatures she's ever met in the entire universe and forcing him to do something he doesn't want to do is damn near impossible.

She sighs heavily in resignation and shakes her head. "Fine," she says, her eyes scanning over him once more. He's bleeding, semi-conscious, and swaying like he's about two seconds away from falling over. He's also determined to prove that he's fine even though he most assuredly isn't. "But if you fall, I'm carrying you to the ship. End of discussion."

Peter starts to nod but tips a little as he overbalances. He manages to right himself with a little effort and gives her a hazy, triumphant little smile. He apparently doesn't feel Groot's branchy fingers hooked into the back of his jacket and allowing him to maintain the illusion of being upright. Gamora sees it though and while she wants to sigh in exasperation at Peter, she gives Groot a very small smile and wink in acknowledgement of his efforts. The tree creature smiles back and nods, maintaining his hold on the wobbly Starlord in front of him.

"We're only going to have a few seconds of distraction once the wall collapses so get ready to run when I tell you to," she tells him and Peter nods, one hand going to the gun at his hip.

Gamora looks back at Rocket who's sizing up with wall for a few last second calculations. "Ready when you are."

The thief nods and lugs his gun off his shoulder, aiming it at the wall. "Get ready. Things are about to get loud."

Just as he says it, he fires the gun at the base of the wall and there's a tremendous, deafening blast that collides with the reinforced structure. The damage from the other side combined with the blast on their side causes thick, jagged cracks to snake and twist their way through the foundation. The ground rumbles beneath them as the wall shifts and begins to crumble and they only have a few seconds to shift its collapse in the opposite direction.

All at once, Drax and Groot rush forward and slam their combined weight into the collapsing wall, forcing it to fall on the Kree on the opposite side instead of on top of them. The wall cracks and breaks in enormous slabs, toppling over and crushing the enforcers on the other side, paving a path of rubble on top of them. The rubble pile is huge and uneven but luckily for them, it traps most of the Kree underneath and provides them with a few seconds of distraction to make their escape.

"Move! Now!" Gamora shouts to Peter and the other Guardian is already scaling his way up the piles of rubble. He's still unsteady and he's not moving nearly as fast as he normally does but he manages to stay upright and clear the mounds of rubble without assistance. Gamora stays in step with him, watching him from the corner of her eye to make sure he doesn't falter and ready to move in if he needs help. Remarkably, Peter manages to keep up with her, though whether it's due to luck or sheer determination, she's not sure.

The others are right behind them, clearing the rubble piles in quick, careful bounds. They make almost half way across the compound before the first Kree shot is fired and by then the Milano is in sight. Rocket breaks off to return fire and Drax slashes through two of the approaching enforcers with deadly accuracy. Groot stays right behind Peter and Gamora, shielding them as best he can with his branchy arms and swatting away any approaching Kree effortlessly.

Gamora tackles one of the Kree to the ground and Peter shoots another one that tries to follow her down. The shot isn't as clean as it usually is, lodging in the enforcer's throat rather than his head, but it takes him down and that's all that matters.

Peter takes aim at another enforcer but his vision blurs and he staggers just a little. The adrenaline combined with the frantic sprint hadn't done him any favors and he's beginning to feel even worse than he had before. His vision fades in and out and he sways as a crippling wave of dizziness almost brings him to his knees. His head is bleeding again, something sticky and red running into one eye, and he blinks rapidly trying to clear his vision.

"Peter!" he hears Gamora yell and his vision clears just long enough for him to focus on the approaching enforcers and fire directly into its face. It crumples to its knees and falls to the ground and Peter is vaguely aware that he's probably very close to following his example.

Gamora grabs him by the arm and loops it across her shoulders, dragging him the last few feet toward the ship. The others are only a few feet away, each engaged in keeping the Kree enforcers at bay, and they're almost home free. Except there's another enforcer coming up from behind them, one that Gamora doesn't see, and he's getting ready to fire.

Peter twists out of her grasp and turns to aim at the enforcer. He's basically blind in one eye thanks to the blood obscuring his vision and the dizziness is making it almost impossible for him to see straight. He's swaying heavily, barely staying upright, and he knows he's only hanging on to the last few tendrils of consciousness he has left. Still, this Kree jerk was threatening to hurt Gamora and that's just unacceptable. He aims at the enforcer and fires.

The blast is bright and explosive and for a brief moment, Peter can't see anything. Then the brightness clears and Peter can see the enforcer fall to the ground only a few feet away. He thinks he smirks but he's not sure. Everything is muffled and his body feels like it's being weighed down with lead balls but Peter is deliriously giddy.

He lets out a triumphant sort of "hah!" noise before the gun falls from his fingers and the world goes dark. He hears Gamora shout his name and feels himself crumpling to the ground but by then it's too late for him to do anything else but fall.

**OOOOO**

There's something nudging his knee. Something with small hands and pointy claws. "Wake up, Quill," a voice that is more than likely attached to said small hands and pointy claws grumbles. "Gotta make sure you didn't knock yourself stupid. Well, more stupid than usual."

Peter cracks his eyes open just slightly and catches a glimpse of whiskers and sharp teeth. It takes him a second to focus, the dim lights in the interior of the ship casting more shadows than he's really equipped to deal with. The nudging continues and Peter feels a brief flicker of irritation.

"M' awake, stop pokin' me, man," he mumbles grumpily and bats Rocket's paw away with an uncoordinated swat.

"Well good mornin' to you too, sunshine," the thief mutters back, slumping back against the wall. "Last time I volunteer to take first watch over an ungrateful humie."

"You know, we had a raccoon get into our garbage one night and my mom had to chase it away with a broom," Peter grumbles and he knows he shouldn't be rude to Rocket but he can't really stop himself from being snappy. Everything hurts and he feels like his head is trying to split open and unfortunately Rocket is the only thing close enough to take the brunt of his misery.

The thief seems relatively unfazed by the jab however. His ears twitch slightly and he bares his teeth but he doesn't snap back like he usually would. "I'm gonna ignore that," he grouses as he continues tinkering with something on his lap. "Apparently you have a head injury and I'm supposed to be nice to you or somethin' until you're better. Gamora did some research when we got back and it said that when you humies get head injuries you tend to get jerkier than usual so I'm gonna let that slide for now."

He turns his black eyes back to Peter and looks him up and down. "You look like crap, Quill."

"Feel like it too," Peter mutter back and he tries to close his eyes again but it just makes everything worse. He's still dizzy, although it's not nearly as bad as it had been earlier, but his head is throbbing and it's radiating through nearly every part of his body. He wonders if he could convince someone to shoot him and put him out of his misery.

"Well, that answers that question," Rocket comments and there's a quiet scraping sound like metal wires scratching against metal plates. It sets Peter's teeth on edge.

"What are you doing?" he asks and he tries to turn his head to face Rocket but the movement sets everything spinning again and he quickly decides against it.

"I'm fixin' your mask, genius," Rocket tells him like it's the most obvious answer in the world. "What's it look like?"

"The ceiling from here," Peter mumbles hazily, staring up at the ceiling above him and trying to quell the dizziness that still plaguing him. Something dawns on him then and he frowns. "Wait, what happened to my mask?"

Rocket stops tinkering and fixes him with a questioning gaze. "What do you mean what happened to your mask? It was damaged during the Kree fight, remember?" Upon seeing the blank, somewhat confused expression on the other man's face, Rocket sighs and shakes his head. "Yeah, Gamora said you might have trouble rememberin' stuff for a few days," he mumbles more to himself than to Peter.

"What happened to my mask?" Peter asks again and he's getting a little more frantic with the question now like it's seriously bothering him that he can't remember. "I don't remember what happened…"

Rocket notices this and reaches out to awkwardly pat his leg. "Relax, Starlord; Gamora said it's normal for you to have a couple missin' memories about what happened. Humie side effects to head injuries and all."

"What happened?" Peter is still searching for answers though and won't be satisfied until he gets them so Rocket sighs in defeat.

"What happened was you got shot in the head," he tells him finally and, yeah, it comes off a bit blunt but it's the truth and apparently Peter needs that right now. The vaguely horrified expression makes him think he probably should have softened that statement a little though. "Well, not shot _in _the head but they shot _at_ your head and you got hit."

"Not helping," Peter responds shakily and he almost looks like he's going to be sick.

"Quill, you throw up on me and I'm gonna punch you in the throat, got it?" Rocket growls in warning but Peter manages to keep it down and is left panting heavily at the ceiling. The thief sighs and shakes his head, going back to tinkering with the mask.

"You got off lucky, Quill," he says as his claws scrape lightly over the charred and dented face plate. The damage is severe and extensive but the mask saved Quill's life so Rocket feels like it's his duty to make sure it's repaired completely. "Your mask deflected most of the blow and prevented you from gettin' a new hole in your head even if the blast knocked you on your ass in the process. Trust me, you may not feel like it right now, but you're lucky to be alive."

Peter groans in a way that makes it clear he very much _doesn't_ feel lucky to be alive and Rocket politely ignores him. Although he'd never admit it, seeing the other Guardian go down during the shootout had scared the hell out of him. He had only be a few feet away at the time but he heard the metallic _'ping' _as the blast slammed into Peter's mask and saw him crumple to the ground a split second later.

And that was what had terrified him more than anything because after he fell, Peter didn't get back up and Peter _always_ got back up during a fight. No matter where they were or who they were fighting, Peter always managed to hold his own against their opponents and stay on his feet during a battle. Rocket had to give him credit, the humie knew how to grapple with the best of them.

But this time he didn't get up, this time he stayed down and crumpled and limp on the ground, and for a brief, terrifying moment, Rocket thought he was dead. He didn't have time to dwell on the possibility for long though because a split second later, Drax had grabbed Peter and slung him over one shoulder and Groot had scooped Rocket up from the ground and they were all running for a nearby wall that could provide them with some semblance of shelter.

Rocket remembered thinking grimly that it wouldn't matter if Peter was dead or not, they weren't leaving him in the middle of a battlefield filled with Kree. If he was dead, they were taking his body with them and making sure he got a proper burial somewhere else.

But Peter wasn't dead; in spite of the shot and every ounce of logic that said he should be dead, he wasn't. Sure, the blast had knocked him unconscious and opened a nasty gash in his forehead but he was most assuredly not dead. If he believed in that sort of thing, Rocket would have called it a miracle. He settled with dumb, stupid luck instead and went back to fixing the mask.

"Sorry I snapped at you earlier," Peter mumbles a few seconds later and he doesn't sound quite as panicky as he had been before. He sounds drowsy and tired and Rocket would be more worried about it if Gamora hadn't told him that the reaction was pretty normal following such an injury. She had told him rest and sleep were the best things for Peter's recovery but insisted they should all take turns checking on him for the next couple hours to make sure he didn't get any worse.

"It's fine," Rocket mumbles back as he disconnects another bundle of wires. "Like I said, I ain't takin' anything you say or do personally right now. Not that you should take advantage of that of anything…"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Peter says, his words fading off toward the end as he starts to slip back to sleep.

"Good," Rocket says as he tinkers with the mask a bit more. "Now go back to sleep, ya big idiot." Peter is already way ahead of him, his breathing shifting into a slow, even rhythm and his body relaxing against the mattress. Rocket glances at him over his shoulder one more time before shaking his head and going back to his work. "Pshh, humans."

**OOOOO**

The headache is what wakes him up the second time and it takes every ounce of energy Peter has left in him not to groan in pain. He doesn't think he's ever had a headache this bad in all his life and if he wasn't so sure his head wasn't going to split right down the middle if he tried to move, he'd be tempted to get up and go search for some painkillers.

The pain is doing a pretty good job of overruling the rest of his senses though and Peter resigns himself to attempting to stagger out of bed and go in search of something to take care of the throbbing in his head. He rolls just slightly in the direction of the edge of the bed but comes to a stop when something large and heavy makes contact with his shoulder.

"Rest, my friend," a deep voice rumbles from somewhere above him and the warm hand at his shoulder prevents him from moving any further. "It is not wise for you to be moving yet."

Peter opens his eyes with some effort and lets his gaze fall on the somewhat blurry form of Drax hovering next to his bed. "Dr'x?" Peter mumbles and he's not sure how much of the slur is from the head wound and how much if from just waking up. "What're you doin' here?"

The warrior gives him a small smile and carefully pushes him back onto the mattress. "I came to check upon your wellbeing; your injury has left us most concerned." He pulls a small glass jar from a pocket and places it on the shelf next to Peter's bed. "I thought your wound may be causing you physical distress; I have brought something that may relieve you of your pain if this is true."

Peter doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry because Drax just might be his favorite person in the entire universe right now. "Oh, 's true alright," he says as he slumps back against the mattress. "I feel like my head's been split open."

Drax goes still beside him and he can nearly feel the warrior's eyes inspecting his body. "I can assure you, Quill, there is no deformity to your skull."

"Metaphor," Peter mumbles back drunkenly, forgetting for a brief moment that Drax really would check his head to see if it had indeed split open like he said.

"Mm," the other Guardian muses quietly, nodding just slightly as he picks up the jar again. He's gotten better at understanding the figures of speech both Peter and Rocket use around him but some of them still leave him baffled. He doesn't dwell on them too much, finding it easier just to accept the strange sayings for what they are instead of trying to understand their meaning.

Peter props himself up on one elbow and reaches up with his free hand to carefully inspect the wound at his hairline. It's still incredibly sore and painful to the touch but most of the blood has been cleaned away so it probably doesn't look as bad as it did in the beginning. Probably.

Judging by the swelling and the dull, bone-deep throb he feels all the way down to his cheekbone, he's pretty sure he has an epic black eye to accompany the wound and if that's the case, he probably looks like he's been hit by a car and left on the side of the road. Not exactly a look that inspires confidence in the so-called Guardians of the Galaxy.

He tries to push himself up further but his body very quickly decides that its had enough of his shit and cripples him with a wave of dizziness that's strong enough to nearly make him tip over the edge of the bed. Drax notices this and quickly reaches out to catch him, bracing him with a strong arm across his chest. The assault isn't finished with him yet, though, and the sudden wave of dizziness and vertigo makes his stomach flip unhappily, hot, thick bile burning the back of his throat.

"'M gonna be sick…" he mutters before just such a thing happens and he retches violently. Drax is prepared for this too (apparently Rocket made it a point to leave a bucket in the room after Peter was nearly sick the first time) and pushes the bucket beneath his head just before he gags.

The attack is quick and violent and it leaves Peter weak and trembling in the other Guardians arms. He doesn't expel much, mostly bile and stomach acid, but it's enough to make him instantly regret ever trying to move in the first place.

"I told you it was unwise to move," Drax scolds lightly, one large hand resting in between Peter's shoulder blades while the other remains planted against his chest to keep him upright.

"Yeah, you did," Peter gasps, spitting into the bucket and swiping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

"There is no need to apologize," the warrior tells him reassuringly. "You are unwell, it is not something to apologize for."

"No, about the moving thing," Peter elaborates with some kind of hand movement he

can't really identify. "You were right."

Drax nods once in agreement and carefully maneuvers Peter back onto the bed, arranging him gently into a more comfortable position. "Perhaps now you will heed my advice."

"Definitely heeding," Peter mumbles, closing his eyes tightly against the throbbing waves of pain that are now coursing through his head. The dizziness was bad enough but the tight throbbing in his head has made everything ten times worse. He feels like he wants to die.

Something cold and slick touches his forehead just below the wound and Peter flinches involuntarily. He opens his eyes just enough to see Drax applying whatever is in the jar to the wound at his hairline. "Wha's that?" he asks quietly, his voice a little raw from his earlier sickness.

"A salve that was used on my planet to treat the wounds of our warriors in battle," the other Guardians replies as he gingerly applies it to the gash. Peter flinches again as it makes contact with the wound but almost instantly the pain begins to fade. A cool, numbing sensation spreads outward from the site of the injury, dulling the throbbing headache and relieving some of the dizziness.

Peter sags in relief and groans quietly. "Oh my God, you are my favorite person right now," he gushes and Drax just smiles quietly at the praise.

"I'm happy I was able to help you," the other Guardian replies, placing the jar back on the shelf and turning back to face his friend. "You should rest. Your wounds will heal more quickly if you do not strain yourself."

"Wouldn't want that," Peter replies hazily, blinking up at the ceiling. The pain has faded away almost completely now and he feels warm and heavy against the mattress. He's still a little dizzy but that too is beginning to fade and he can feel his body relaxing more with each passing second.

A warm hand lays across his forehead gently, careful to avoid the wound but partially covering his eyes and shielding them from the overhead light. "Rest," Drax says again and Peter doesn't have to be told again, letting himself drift back into a painless sleep.

Drax allows his hand to remain where it is for several more minutes until he's absolutely sure Peter is asleep. He remembers doing the the same thing for his daughter when she was a child and when her bright, beautiful mind was still whirling away in the middle of the night, preventing her from sleeping. No matter how restless and fidgety she was, all it took was her father's hand resting against her forehead to send her off to a deep, quiet sleep.

He hasn't done that for anyone since she died but, then again, there were a lot of thing he hadn't done since his wife and daughter were murdered that he's started doing now thanks to the Guardians.

After his family was killed, he didn't remember what it felt like to laugh or smile or sleep without nightmares. That changed after he made the decision to follow Peter and the others on their (basically suicide) mission to stop Ronan. After that, he found himself laughing at the silly, if somewhat confusing, antics of the man who called himself Starlord. He found himself smiling at the bickering between the furry, gun-happy thief and his three-word speaking branchy companion. And while the nightmares still plagued his dreams nearly every night, there were a few nights where he could sleep peacefully and not see the tortured faces of his wife and daughter.

Since becoming a Guardian, Drax found something of a family, weird and dysfunctional though it may be, and he was determined to protect this one even if it killed him. Which was why seeing his fellow Guardian fall during the Kree battle had enraged him as much as seeing his own family get killed. He had failed once to keep his family safe once, he wouldn't do it again.

The memories of the battle were blurred at best and Drax only remembers slicing through the Kree enforcers that separated him from his friend. He saw him fall, saw the enforcers standing in the way, and made sure it didn't stay that way for long. He was splattered with Kree blood, his blades dripping in his hands, but he reached Peter and scooped him off the ground with one hand.

The human was still alive, he wasn't sure how he knew, he just _did_, and that was all that mattered. He would keep him safe and prevent anymore harm from coming to him if it was the last thing he did. He saw the others following him to the wall and he kept Peter close.

It had been several long, lonely years since Drax felt the need to protect anyone, to care about anything since he lost his family. He cared about his friends though, he cared about them and knew it was now his duty to protect them and keep them safe and that's exactly what he planned to do.

He settles back against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest, keeping watch over his sleeping friend.

**OOOOO**

The room smells like flowers. He can't identify what kind of flowers or even where they're coming from; all he knows is that the room has an earthy, floral scent. He opens his eyes and comes face to face with a smiling tree trunk.

"I am Groot," the tree creature greets him when he sees the other Guardian blink up at him.

"Hey pal," Peter replies quietly, offering a small, uncoordinated wave to go along with the greeting. "The others sent you down to check up on me too, huh?"

"I am Groot," the other Guardian replies with a slight nod and a shrug like the request hadn't bothered him in the least. In fact, as far as Peter could tell, there wasn't much they had encountered in their travels that had bothered Groot; he seemed the most unflappable of all of them.

"I am Groot?" the tree creature asks and the inflection is just enough for Peter to understand what he's asking. _How are you feeling?_

"Better," he answers honestly after a second of consideration. He does feel better, much more than he had earlier when he had politely lost his lunch in front of Drax. He makes a mental note to apologize again for that later but he's pretty sure said mental note will disappear within a matter of minutes. "Better than I was before."

"I am Groot?" One branchy finger points toward Groot's head and then turns to indicate the wound on Peter's. _How's your head?_

"Better," Peter says again and whatever ingredients were in Drax's miracle salve, they were certainly doing their job now. The skull-splitting pain has died down to a very dull ache and Peter would kiss Drax for sharing whatever was in that jar if he knew the other man wouldn't stab him in the process.

Something flashes from the corner of his eye and he looks over to see Groot offering him a glass of water. "You're a lifesaver," Peter tells him by way of thanks, sitting up slowly to reach for the offered glass.

Groot watches him carefully and looks like he wants to protest Peter's sudden movement but the other Guardian waves him off. "Don't worry, I know," Peter tells him as he slowly pulls himself into a sitting position. "Trust me, I learned my lesson from last time."

Seemingly satisfied, Groot hands him the glass and watches quietly as Peter drains the contents. He sets the glass on the nearest shelf and leans back against the wall, staring straight ahead and trying to get used to sitting up again. The dizziness is mostly gone but the vertigo is still lingering and if Peter's hand clenches into the mattress to keep himself upright, Groot is kind enough not to say anything. He is watching him, though, his dark eyes locked onto the other man's face for any sign of distress.

"I'm fine, Groot," Peter assures him with a halfhearted smile. "Just trying to reacquaint myself with being vertical."

Groot watches him for a few seconds more as if to convince himself Peter isn't about to fall over. Satisfied, he shrugs slightly and leans back against the wall.

"You guys aren't gonna let me live this down anytime soon, are you?" Peter asks quietly and Groot gives him another tiny shrug in response.

"I am Groot." _Probably not. _

"Figured as much," Peter mumbles, releasing his death grip on the mattress as gravity finally seems to right itself around him. "I guess I'm still human enough to be taken down by something as mundane as a blow to the head after all."

He wasn't sure if he was disappointed in that realization or not. After Nova Corps had politely informed him that he wasn't quite as human as he'd always thought, Peter had vaguely wondered if the other side of him, the non-human side, would emerge in a way that was beneficial to him. Hell, he figured that the whole holding-onto-the-Infinity-Stone-and-not-being-evaporated thing would have at least affected him in some way. But so far, there had been no change.

He had read comics as a kid, watched the Saturday morning cartoons where the young hero is suddenly endowed with amazing and incredible powers that are used to save the world. His life wasn't quite that extraordinary (space travel and saving the universe aside); true, he was technically only half human but so far the other half hadn't come in handy at all. And if Peter is honest with himself, when he's standing out on the battlefield with his teammates, each of whom has been genetically modified and trained and molded into living weapons, each of whom are stronger, faster, and altogether more _durable_ than he is...well, Peter sometimes doesn't feel like he measures up.

Sure, he can hold his own and fight tooth and nail just like the rest of them but when it comes down to it, he's still human. He's human and he's fragile and he damages more easily than the others no matter how hard he tries to prove otherwise. He's seen Drax and Gamora takes blows that would kill a normal person, watched Rocket get shot across the room after he accidently touched a bundle of exposed wires and more or less electrocuted himself. Hell, Groot _blew himself up_ to save them all from getting killed when Ronan's warship crashed into the ground and he brushed it off like it was nothing (sure, he lived in a pot for a few weeks after that but still). But then Peter was taken down by a lucky blow to the head and left more or less bedbound while he struggled with the lingering after effects and yeah, he feels a little frustrated about that.

"I am Groot?" the other Guardian asks quietly, pulling Peter from his thoughts. He looks over to see Groot watching him with his dark, concerned eyes and Peter feels his shoulders slump a little.

"I'm fine," Peter tells him and yeah, it's a lie, but Groot doesn't question it. "It just sucks being reminded of your weaknesses, you know?" Peter continues, looking back at the other Guardian and offering a wan smile. "Concussions seem to be mostly a human thing which means I'm the only one who would be affected by them." He shrugs a little and shakes his head slowly; if he's feeling particularly crappy and angsty right now, he'll just blame it on the head injury. "Just frustrating...that's all."

Groot just nods in understanding; he doesn't judge him or ask questions or push him to talk more if he doesn't want to, he just accepts it. "I am Groot," he tells him simply, reaching out to gently pat Peter's outstretched leg reassuringly. _It's okay, there's nothing wrong with being human._

Peter gives him a small smile and the tree creature returns it warmly. "I am Groot," he continues with a slight shrug and a gesture with one branchy hand. _Human is different, but human is good._

A moment of comfortable silence passes between them and Peter is silently grateful that Groot is the one in the room with him at the moment and not one of the others. He may be a creature of few words but Groot is sometimes easier to talk to than someone who has more than a three word vocabulary. He doesn't tease or judge or need explanation, he's just...Groot.

There's a soft shuffle from beside the bed and Peter looks over to see Groot placing his tape player on the shelf beside him and setting the headphone on top of them. He presses play and turns up the volume as David Bowie lyrics fill the room. Peter just smiles and lets his head tip back against the wall. "Thanks, Groot."

The other Guardian just nods and gives him a warm smile. "I am Groot."

When he had been confined to the pot following Ronan's destruction, Peter would often come in and sit with him for hours, playing the tape on repeat to keep him entertained. He liked the music and Peter liked sharing it with him so it only seemed natural that Groot should return the favor now that Peter was the one more or less stuck in bed. And if that's what would help him feel better, then Groot was more than happy to oblige.

He wasn't sure he understood Peter's sudden disappointment with his Terran biology but he didn't think he should press too far either. The grievance seemed somewhat fleeting and Gamora had told them that Peter might experience changes in mood and behavior for a short time while he recovered. Besides, Groot didn't think there was anything wrong with being human; he liked that Peter was human.

He liked that human meant brave but impulsive and small but strong. He liked that Peter was human because being human meant Peter knew how to talk to Gamora, how to relate to Drax, and how to talk Rocket down when he was exceptionally angry about something. He liked that Peter was human because Terran music was pretty amazing and if Groot knew only one thing about Terra, that would have been enough. He liked that Peter was human because Peter brought out the human in all of them and sometimes they needed that. Peter was human and Groot liked that.

What he didn't like was that human also meant Peter was breakable and could get hurt more easily than the rest of them. He didn't like that Peter was so strong and brave and fearless but that one wrong move could bring him crashing down in flames because he was human. He didn't like that he was made acutely aware of that fact earlier when Peter got shot. Peter fell and Groot suddenly remembered he was human and he _did not_ like that.

If there was only one thing Groot did not like about Peter being human it was that humans were fragile and Peter was still susceptible to injuries like this. Huddled behind that wall with Peter only half-conscious and bleeding against him, Groot did not like the fact that he was human.

There's a soft sound beside him and and Groot looks over at Peter. The other Guardian's eyes are closed but he's humming along softly to the song playing through the headphones. He's still a little pale and bruised from the battle earlier but he's recovering and that's all that matters. Peter is human but he's also strong and stubborn and alive and determined to stay that way. Peter is human and Groot likes that.

**OOOOO**

It's quiet when Peter opens his eyes again. The room is empty save for him but soft music is still drifting out through the headphones on the shelf beside him. He doesn't know when Groot left but he figures it couldn't have been that long ago; he hadn't been asleep for that long (or had he?)

He's still sitting up, his legs are stretched out in front of him, and the position is beginning to make his back stiff. He shifts carefully and swings his legs over the side of the bed, waiting for a second or two to give his body a second to catch up to the shift in position. Peter stands slowly, hanging on to the shelf for moment to make sure he's not about to fall over. He's still a little dizzy but it fades down to a manageable level and he's able to let go of the shelf and stand on his own. Walking is a bit more challenging and he stumbles a little as he steps through the threshold but he's able to stay upright.

He doesn't know where he's going, there's no real destination in mind, all he knows is that he has to get up and move around or he'll start to go completely stir crazy. He's never been able to stay in one place for longer than a few hours and being bed bound is one of his own personal versions of hell.

The ship is quiet save for the quiet snores coming from the other sleeping cabins and it's not hard for Peter to determine where the others are. He has no idea what time it is but it doesn't really matter; he'd learned early on that a concept like time was pretty much nonexistent in the voids of space because there was no difference between night and day. The body would develop its own internal clock to make up for the lack of standard time and it was easy to follow the cues when it felt it was time for sleep. Other than that, Peter never really paid attention to something as irrelevant as time.

If he had to guess right now, though, he would say it was either very early or very late since all of his teammates were asleep. He's happy enough to keep it that way for now; it would give him time to get out of bed and move around without someone hovering over him. He knows they mean well but Peter doesn't think he can handle anyone else checking up on him for a while.

He makes his way to the front of the ship and sinks down into the the pilot's chair. The short walk leaves him slightly out of breath and a little dizzy but he figures that's to be expected. Once again, he has no idea how long he was in and out of consciousness nor does he know how long he was stuck in the bed; being a little winded seems like a manageable side effect for both of those things.

The Milano is somewhat anchored in the openness of space, stationery save for the soft hum of the engine below his feet. A wide expanse of darkness opens out before him, completely empty except for the distant glimmering of stars. In the distance, he can just make out the pinkish-yellow swirl of a spiral galaxy, the reflected light coming through the surrounding darkness like a mirage. Peter stares at it for a long time, letting his eyes focus on the soft glow and allowing his mind to go blank for a little while.

"You should be resting," a voice says from behind him and Peter jumps slightly at the words. He glances over his shoulder to see Gamora step onto the deck beside him, sliding into the chair next to his.

"Geez," he mutters, sinking back into the chair with a slow exhale. "You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were asleep."

Gamora quirks an eyebrow slightly and fixes him with a pointed gaze. "I could say the same for you," she says and there's just the barest hint of disapproval in her voice.

Peter just shakes his head slightly and allows it to tip back against the chair. "Can't sleep anymore," he tells her, looking back out at the spiral galaxy. "I feel like I've been stuck in that bed for days, I was starting to go crazy."

Gamora gives him a slight smile and shakes her head. "Not days," she tells him, drawing one knee up to her chest and resting her chin on it. "A full day, yes; maybe two at the most."

"Two days is too much," Peter tells her, glancing away from the galaxy to turn his attention over to her. She's dressed more comfortably than she was when they were attacked by the Kree, her black leathers replaced with softer material that's not nearly as constricting. Her hair is braided loosely to one side, the pink tips curling at the bottom of the braid. The dim light from inside the ship combined with the dull glow from the spiral galaxy reflects across her face, softening her features and making her seem younger. Peter watches her for a second more, smiling just faintly.

That is until Gamora catches him looking and her eyes narrow in suspicion. "What?"

"Nothing," Peter tells her, holding up one hand in surrender. "I was just thinking…"

"Thinking about what?" the assassin asks, her tone still a little clipped and sharp.

"I was thinking you look nice," Peter tells her honestly with a small shrug. It was the truth; Gamora was beautiful and Peter had thought so ever since he first met her. He just never told her as much because he was relatively certain she might dislocate something he valued if he did. "You know, when you don't look like you're ready to stab me."

Gamora's eyes are still locked onto his but she smiles a little at the compliment.

"Sorry if that made you uncomfortable," Peter tells her, looking back out at the swirling galaxy. "This head injury is making me act kind of weird."

Gamora just shakes her head. "No, it's fine. It was...sweet."

"Really?" Peter asks in surprise, wondering briefly if his concussion was suddenly responsible for auditory hallucinations as well.

"Really," Gamora says with a slight nod and another small smile. "Besides, I usually don't feel like stabbing you unless you've done something stupid," she continues, her gaze shifting up to the healing wound on his head. "Like getting yourself shot in the head."

Peter chuckles quietly and reaches up to touch the wound gently. It still hurts like hell but it's not nearly as bad as it was before. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'll make it a point to avoid that from now on."

"Good," Gamora says with a single nod as if she wholeheartedly approves of such a plan. A brief, comfortable silence passes between them for a few moments before Gamora speaks again. "I was worried about you," she tells him quietly, almost too softly for him to hear. When Peter glances over at her, it's her turn to avoid his gaze. "When you got hit, I assumed the worst."

For a moment, Peter isn't sure what to say. He knew she had been concerned when they were still under fire, before they made it back to the ship, but it was completely different to hear her _say_ it. As far as he knew, Gamora was fearless, all hard edges and no him she had been worried, saying it out loud...well, it just felt wrong. He never wanted to her to worry about him, to upset her in any way; the same went for all of his teammates. They had all been worried about him and for some reason, it feels like crossing some kind of line.

"I'm sorry," he tells her honestly in the quietness of the ship. "I'm sorry for worrying you guys. I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine," Gamora says, cutting him off gently. "You're alive and that's all that matters." She reaches out and takes one of his hands in her own, intertwining their fingers and squeezing just slightly. "Let's keep it that way, shall we?"

Peter just smiles and squeezes back. "I'll do my best."

Gamora smiles and turns her attention back to the vast openness in front of them. She doesn't let go of Peter's hand, not quite yet...she needs the reassurance that he really is alright. His skin is warm against her fingers, his thumb swirling abstract little patterns on the back of her hand, and if she concentrates, she can feel the pulse of blood through his fingers against her own.

After Nebula had blown her ship apart outside of Knowhere and Peter had rescued her, she had rolled her eyes when he told her that something heroic had come over him and compelled him to risk his life for her. At that point in time, their tenuous friendship/partnership/relationship was still up in the air and she didn't trust him past where she could see him. In her book, Peter Quill was the kind of person to sell out his own mother if it meant a profit for him and she wasn't interested in anyone that dishonorable. Peter Quill wasn't heroic and he certainly wouldn't risk his own skin to save someone else unless he had something to gain.

That had been before he nearly died trying to save her, before he proposed taking on Ronan and his entire warship to protect the people of Xandar, before he was willing to let himself be vaporized by the Infinity Stone to prevent it from touching the surface of the planet and wiping out all existence. Ever since they had defeated Ronan, Peter had surprised her by proving time and again that not only was he not as selfish and opportunistic as she had originally thought, but he was heroic and brave and determined to protect others even if it meant putting himself in harm's way (which, to her chagrin, tended to happen more often than not). Sure, Peter may come across as an idiot sometimes but he was a brave one and much more loyal than she had originally given him credit for.

Which was why she suddenly understood what he meant when he said something had come over him when he thought she was going to die outside of Knowhere. She understood it because she felt the same thing when she watched him fall during their battle with the Kree. Peter had been right next to her, returning fire and fighting side by side with his team the way they always had for the past few months. He had been standing one minute and then down the next and Gamora suddenly knew exactly what Peter had meant when he said he couldn't let her die. Seeing him fall, realizing that he could very well be dead at her feet, something struck a chord deep inside that she wasn't prepared for.

There had been some kind of noise that cut through the shouts and gunfire overhead, a cry of anger and disbelief and outrage. It had taken several seconds before Gamora realized it had come from her and by that time she was already on her knees beside Peter. She saw his mask, the dented and warped metal where the blast had hit, and the trickle of blood that was already beginning to seep around the edges and saturate his hair. Her hand was on his chest and she couldn't tell if he was breathing and he wasn't moving and for a brief moment, Gamora forgot all of her training as an assassin.

After Thanos had taken her and made her what she was, after he has stripped away nearly all of her humanity and made her little more than a living weapon, Gamora had made it a point to distance herself from everyone and everything. She was an assassin, she didn't have the time or the desire to find friends or allow herself to get close to anyone. But then she met Peter and the others and they formed this weird, ragtag little bond and suddenly it wasn't so hard to want to stick around. She cared about them, as much as she tried to avoid it, and when she saw Peter get hit during their battle with the Kree, she remembered what it was like to feel the same protective rage she thought Thanos had erased from her. They had hurt him, the Kree had wounded someone she cared about, and Gamora wanted nothing more than their blood on her hands.

Her bloodlust was put on the back burner, however, when Drax rushed over and scooped Peter off the ground, shouting at her to run for the wall in the distance. They needed cover and shelter and the wall was the closest thing that would provide that. She had looked up, saw Peter hanging limply over Drax's shoulder, and broke out into a sprint behind them.

She doesn't know if she had been holding her breath, if the weight on her shoulders had anything to do with Peter or if it had been there before, but the minute they stopped long enough for her to see that he was indeed breathing, she felt like she could breathe too. Peter was alive, if more than a little dazed and disoriented, and Gamora felt a knot of dread disappear when he opened his eyes and blinked up at her. Gamora hadn't cared about anyone in a long time, she'd made it a point not to, but she cared about Peter and she wasn't sure if she loved him or hated him for that.

She glances over at him and finds that his eyes are closed, his body relaxed in the pilot's chair. His fingers are still loosely intertwined with her own and his skin is warm and grounding against her hand. He's asleep again, despite his earlier complaints about it, but Gamora doesn't question it too much; apparently this was normal following a head injury.

Once they reached the ship and got Peter back onboard, she immediately pulled up every shred of information she could find on humans and head injuries. Peter had said he had something called a "concussion" and none of them had any idea what that was but Gamora was determined to find out. The nearest medical facility was easily a two-day journey away and she needed to know if Peter was about to up and die on them anytime in the near future.

From everything she'd read, Peter didn't appear to be in immediate danger of succumbing to his injury but she was still determined to get him checked out by someone with a medical license as soon as they reached a suitable destination. She had also managed to convince the others to keep a close eye on him until they reached said destination (to be fair, it hadn't taken that much convincing; they were all concerned for their friend).

The best thing Peter could do was rest and if that wasn't in a bed, then so be it; she had seen him sleep in the pilot's chair more than once and he appeared comfortable enough. She knows the others had taken their turns in checking up on him and making sure he was alright and Gamora doesn't mind stepping in and taking up the task now.

She curls up in the chair into a more comfortable position and keeps Peter's fingers intertwined with her own. The ship is quiet, the only sound filling the cabin is Peter's slow, even breathing, and Gamora feels herself relax for the first time that day.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading guys! :D<strong>


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